


Smoke Wooing

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: Delsin and The Tagger Girl [2]
Category: inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, damsel in distress sorta, delsin being cute and annoying, early relationships, lots of smoke and fire, love making, pain pills, setting off the smoke alarm cause of epic orgasms, sex with each other for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: You and Delsin have come up with a brilliant tag to set the new civilian uprising straight after the Battle of Seattle, but he’s trying to be a flirt and you’re a bit butthurt over some dumb shit and things sometimes fall off billboards… including people. At least your boyfriend is a fucking conduit, right?Anonymous asked: so your delsin fic was amazing and hit me right in my shameless thirst (tysm) I thought mayyyybe if u ever needed an idea for a follow up you could totally add some sweetness into the mix and have it be another one of those ice cream dates where del totally asks the reader to be proper full time gf while trying really hard to like,, not sound lame and embarrassing and maybe could burn their initials into a tree w smoke power bc that’s cute af??? anyway your fics are amazing??? ily??A/N: This story doesn’t fit the prompt very well, but it inspired this and I want to thank the Anon for their request, without them, this wouldn’t be what it is. Hope you all enjoy it! I love me some Delsin Rowe. <3





	Smoke Wooing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



He wasn’t subtle, but if you ever dared call him a rebel he’d say that was just his full-blooded Akomish grandfather guiding him to do what felt right. Delsin would grab your wrists, sway you back and forth in a mock boogie-dance and give you his winning smirk; deep-set eyes making your knees weak. No… no one could call him a wallflower even if he were in a mood to paint literal flowers on walls.

Delsin, of course, did very little without the end goal of garnering attention - tagging Seattle from the east to west and everything in between included - and while that intimidated you at first, it also made his whole aura undeniably attractive.

So, it came as no surprise that when Delsin asked you to be his official girlfriend, it was with the flare of a conduit street artist that’d saved the whole city. Singed fire art branching across four buildings, several maple trees and a whole corner block of the Lantern District. Cop cars lined the street while you were lead up a fire escape blindfolded to see the display and at that point you were far too smitten by him to not say ‘duh’ and ‘kiss me.’ 

Before that there’d been several return trips to that little ice cream stand on Eighth Avenue, a couple times spent repeating the events of that first time with sometimes more. 

You thought he was cute, funny and the perfect mix of rigid immaturity. That lure of light he represented in your safe and albeit lonely life, brought you out of your hovel when you'd normally stay in and listen to music. 

Tonight you dump the tunes and oven pizza, follow him with spray paint can in hand, and like so many times before, find yourself laughing behind a musky bandana while committing some minor crimes an hour before mandatory curfew. 

Even with nearly six months after D.U.P. left the city, the regulations they put in place are still written in the bylaws, and it’ll take a majority vote in November to abolish it. Depending on which district you're in, the cops are either lax or strict on the ‘no one out past nine’ rule. 

It’s a little before eight, and the sun is setting in cotton candy red and pink.

You both wind through the alleyways and cut across a few streets when it’s faster, regardless of foot traffic. The tang of chocolate ice cream and Delsin’s hot, sweet kisses come back like the memory of a wet dream as you both jog between One-Thirtieth Street and Eighth Avenue. 

Thornton Creek passes by where Delsin had licked every adhesive layer of melted sweetness off your tits while rubbing you under your shorts until you got off in public just before that couple and their dog entered the park. It was one of the most daring things you’d done up until then… all artistic mischief and outrunning cops excluded… well, except for that one time you’d set fire to your math teachers garden in the burbs. That dude had been an asshole, though. 

“Come on, Miss Legs-for-Days. Shake your tail feathers, alright,” Delsin eggs you on with that apple-wood smoke tone of voice and twists around to face you, walking backward so he can hit you with a dashing smirk, “We’re not getting anywhere with you slowing down The Taggers Brigade.”

“Two people with one backpack don’t qualify as a brigade, Banner Man,” you reply with a shitty smile that he can't see behind the black bandana mask you’d tied on before meeting him on the balcony of your apartment. 

“Yeah, well… a group of snot-nosed dicks doesn’t qualify as separatists either.”

“Do you see me making excuses for the BTS? No. If anything I’m the one who came up with this plan.” It was fifty fifty but you drew up the sketches. 

“Well, someone’s just a bucket of fun tonight,” he says with a handsome grin. 

“Hey, soo...” Delsin pauses long enough for you to walk up beside him before he throws an arm around your shoulders, “... totally hypothetical question: but would a date around Thornton Creek Park or say, The Space Needle, with some smoke acrobatics, get me enough credit to ya know, not be called Banner Man every ten seconds?”

You grumble, not knowing why your default tonight is pre-grump with him, but he tends to bring out the worst in you, as well as the best. Also, you’re a little butt hurt about that party a few night ago and maybe he doesn’t realize it, but as hot as he says you are, you’ve got an insecure streak that Fetch tends to unearth. 

“Who knows,” you tell him, wondering if him and Abigail Walker - Fetch the neon flower that she is - ever fooled around during the Battle of Seattle. 

He half laughs, grabs the side of your face in his palm and plants a smooch on your forehead right out of the blue. 

Your stomach is still a little knotted from the smoky, sorta fire-singed piggyback ride down three stories to the ground level of your apartment complex and now it’s tangled by his affectionate kiss. 

You’ve hitched a ride with his smoke abilities a couple times, but it always leaves you with that mid-roller coaster feeling in your gut for a long while after… and when he does stuff like that - like kissing you innocently but not innocently - it only makes your butterflies flutter worse.

Tonight was supposed to be an evening of climbing traffic lights and hopping across balconies to get to the Zalero office building with their newly skinned rooftop billboard, but as usual, it seems he’s got an ulterior motive. A Delsin that’s trying to kill two birds with one stone is always worrisome. But you’ve been excited about tonight for awhile, ever since you both came up with an idea for a new tag and the both of you just sorta ran with it.

Maybe you don’t have the smoke powers Delsin does, but you’ve been tagging this city since you were thirteen and it shows. 

He watches with a slightly lecherous grin as you grapple up to a yellow-flashing traffic light, balancing between the caged camera before kicking off into the middle of a tall maple tree. 

Below you, Delsin whistles, but with a shot of red ashe, he’s up beside you under the leaves with a lopsided smile. 

Lickety split, you think. 

He curls his tanned hands around the knobby tree branches, blocking you in under the dark shadows of fragrant tree sap and leans in to kiss your bandana covered lips. You swallow a moan as he stares into your eyes without a single edge of insecurity, and slowly tugs your bandana down. 

His lips are always so warm… almost scalding hot…like they’ve been sipping steaming coffee. 

The kiss is a little hesitant, but that’s only because you’re still a bit sore over how well him and Fetch got along at that group party the other night. And of course, there you go thinking about it again. 

You and Delsin met just a week after him and Fetch, but between those two and Eugene, their ragtag group practically saved the fucking city. Bonds like that are hard to match, and you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t slightly intimidated by her… even Eugene for that matter.

“You seriously wanna make out in a tree all night,” you whisper against his affectionate smile, feeling insecure at your core but trying to hide it with a small smirk.

Delsin’s brows crinkle. 

He knows something bothering you but puts on a winning smile and runs the back of his fingers along your jaw, threading through some loose bangs floating against your ear and pushes your foreheads together, “I’d make out with you anywhere. Tree, fishing dock during a summer heat wave or back on your shitty mattress. Wherever… whenever. You always taste the same.”

You’re about to say something about how your mattress is awesome and definitely not shitty when he pecks you on the lips again and grins, “Same, as in better than chocolate ice cream.”

“I feel like that day is gonna go in your spank bank or something…”

“Gonna? Girly, it’s been in their since day one, among with others I won’t terrorize you with right now. We kinda got some corporate propaganda to cover up, and your sexual advances are kinda bordering on pushy right now, so let’s just keep focused, alright?”

He takes a jab to the chest with a big, wolfish grin and ties your bandana back around your head before giving you a thrust up into the top branches where the second story ledge is waiting with a five-inch border. 

You can feel Delsin’s eyes on your ass the whole time. 

Three stories up and three to go, you think as your arms start to burn pleasantly. 

It’s slow, but it’s either that or you fall. Once you’re clear of the top leaves on the Japanese maple and about to stuff your converse on a gutter bracket, Delsin grabs you around the middle, making you gasp beneath the mask, and for two seconds there’s nothing but fiery smoke and a feeling of vertigo as he jettisons the both of you up the sidewall of the building to the rooftops. 

The momentum takes your breath away until he touches down on the cement roof and you fling yourself out of his arms and into a dizzying twirl. 

“Holy shit! - warn a girl next time, man!”

You buckle in a haze, bobbing on your knees for a second before your brain says ‘fuck it,’ and you collapse, laying on your back with the evening stars dabbed beyond red clouds. 

For a moment you feel sick - pukey kinda sick - but the clouds above barely move and the wind up this high is crisp and dry, and the gurgling sensation fades away about as quick as it had come.

“Heh, my bad. In my defense though, this is what happens when you agree to date a conduit. If I can’t woo you every once in awhile what’s the point in being the Smoke Guy, right?”

“Shit… I dunno, Delsin… burn our initials in a maple tree or something or,” you splay out with a long groan, “at least give me a heads up. I was not prepared for magic tonight.”

Delsin scuffs his low-tops beside your splayed arm, looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes crowned by the red beanie, dark brows and hugged by a smug, honey smile.

“The ‘real’ magic happens later when we hit your place after tagging up the town. You won’t believe what I found out about the ladies while reading over some of the fanfiction from Eugene’s nerd group and there’s some deceptively hot prose in there that a damsel like you could benefit from.”

Before you can tell him off, he raises his hands - the thick chain bracelet clinking, “I know - I know. Don’t thank me yet. We still gotta makeover that billboard before you can fall in love with me all over again.”

Despite your better judgment and knee-jerk response to his egotistical behavior, you puff out a breathy smile and tip your head back into the dirty rooftop, “Dude, I’m just here for the free ice cream and fingering - we’ve been over this already.”

“Don’t forget defacement of public property and artistic inspiration as an added bonus. Plus, I did more than a little spirit fingering last weekend.”

“Mmm,” you muse, “... that’s funny, I don’t think I remember that. You sure you’ve got the right girl?” 

It was meant as a joke - it’s hard to forget Delsin going down on you in your kitchen while you were trying to make something to snack on during the movie date night thing he wanted to do. 

Delsin said he couldn’t wait until midway into the movie to eat you out, and barricaded you against your kitchen counter with hunger in his eyes. He’d knelt down on the tile floor, lifted your dress and started using ‘all’ the moves on you... 

In this case ‘all’ meaning a slightly sloppy, but incredibly enjoyable tonging that made you knees literally buckle. 

Above you, Delsin’s face falls into softness, apparently not taking your silly jab all that well. 

He squats down, ghosts his fingers along the delicate skin of your inner elbow and tells you, “Just cause every lady from the docks to the burbs wants in on this Akomish ass, doesn’t mean I wanna tango with anyone but you.”

“I…” you stammer and blush, “I know… it’s just… fuck, to be honest, I’d feel less insecure if I had some cool powers like yours.”

“Oh, so they’re cool now, huh?” He’s all grins until you try shrugging off your emotional rut and then, in a flash, Delsin plunks down beside you on the rooftop with his fist squished in his cheek, gazing into your eyes with soft awe. 

“Look,” he explains, “when I climbed that water tower and saw you in those hot pants and fishnets, painting Chuckie Cheese with a cigar hanging out his mouth, I thought I’d hit the fucking jackpot. Then you told me to piss off and threatened to pepper spray me, and man… I’ve been trying to impress you ever since.”

With a scoff under the mask, you twist towards him, arching a brow, “And to think I actually thought you’d adopted me as little sister material.”

“Yeah, what were you smoking when you came up with that bullshit theory?”

“Probably a side effect from your chemtrails,” you quip back, kicking his shin enough to make his stomach curl, grinning with wolfish mischief.

“Oh, you’re a bad girl!” He fake admonishes, and starts wrestling your wrists around as you laugh and fight back, gasping when he rolls you on your back; knee shoved between your legs. 

Delsin mumbles something about your bandana getting in the way of all the fun before pinning one of your arms with his elbow and yanking the black cotton down. This time when he reaches down to kiss you, you lack any of the self-conscious air of before. He groans - tongue to your lower lip - and you open your mouth, teasing the underside of it with your own. His hips press down into yours; firm and purposeful with the unmistakable outline of a semi denting above your groin.

“Wait-wait…” he says inside your mouth - muffled - before jerking himself up, his expressive eyes staring down at you, “...hold up. Are you - do you wanna do this now? Here? I mean, I’m all for spur of the moment kinda sex-”

“Seriously?” you laugh, “... you really think I’m gonna have unprotected sex with the playboy of conduits on a rooftop while the D.U.P. cameras are still active around half the city? I’m a petty criminal, not a fucking moron.”

Delsin’s eyes narrow even though that perpetual smirk of his is still there, “Are you implying I have crabs or something?”

“I’m more worried about you pumping me full of conduit juice than anything else,” you tell him, watching his lips screw together - stuck between insult and amusement. 

Before he can defend himself or number off the women he’s been with, and convince you of how ‘pristine’ his record really is, you shove him back on his knees and smirk.

“Less I know about your sexual escapades, the less nervous I’ll be later. Now help me up, Banner Man.”

“Oh’ho’ho’hoo… you are in for a world of hurt, little lady,” he threatens with a lull but stands up and hauls you to your feet anyway, swiping rooftop gravel off your back with the flat expanse of his palm. The attention he pays to your butt is flattering, but the confident wink only gets him so far before you elbow him away and jog towards the billboard ladder.

“Love you!” he calls out in good humor - all pomp and flattery in his tone as usual.

Without spraying him a sideways look, you get to work. 

The billboard lights angled down above your heads compensate for the darkness when the sun finally sets. It’s one of those rare full moons with a bucket of stars in the sky. 

Sunset clouds fade to the west by the time you’ve both taped up the second layer of cardboard cut outs. 

Delsin is excellent at quick tags, but your passion is freehanding so when the sticky box tops come down, you rattle a Predator Green can, make sure the bandana is snug and get to work outlining. 

The wind shifts, blowing fumes towards you; leaking subtly through the cotton. 

It’s peaceful up here. Quiet despite the patrol cars down below. It’s nearly nine, just a few minutes shy probably, and everyone is scrambling home as fast as they can. Aside from a few distant car honks and some muffled argument on the corner, it’s a beautiful night. 

Delsin sits on top of the billboard, balancing effortlessly on the tippy top between two downward spilling lights as you apply the finishing touches. He’s watching a plane light cross the depthless sky, commenting on the how the world keeps spinning despite everything happening on the sidelines. 

You can hear the light kick of his heels on the back of the billboard as you detail the snot coming out of a generic B.T.S. asshole. 

B.T.S… the new blight on the city. 

BioTerrorist Separatists, you think with a sneer. What a bunch of dickwads. As if it wasn’t enough that the conduits saved the city, but now groups of disgruntled civilians want every suspected conduit to clean up the rubble, for free. 

All the B.T.S. do is lay blame on innocent people who had nothing to do with the Battle of Seattle. It also doesn’t help that the separatists have gotten violent lately thanks to the curfew. Anyone out after nine is fair game to them. Guilty via location and time of night. 

So fucking stupid...

Right now the B.T.S. is a nuisance. Narcs with highly effective tasers and baseball bats, but that makes them dangerous enough, and fear can fuel a lot of misguided actions.

You take a short step back and survey the tag you and Delsin did with a small smirk.

“Hey! Banner Man,” you shout up at him, “check out this Garbage Pail Kids inspired smear campaign we got goin’ on! It could be my best work yet.”

“Now that’s tootin’ your own horn if I ever herr-hey… shit, Baby! - Lookout!”

A lump of anxiety drops in your stomach before you can even turn around. 

It’s instinct that makes you duck without thinking - but it’s terrible luck that pushes you right into firing range of a tossed brick. The base of it smacks you in the side of the head, blacking your vision and throwing off your balance enough that your heel misses the edge of the billboard railing, and down you go.

That lurch in your stomach becomes a cramp as the wind ruffles your hoodie around your stomach. Something wet drips upwards on the fall. It all happens in a split second, but it feels like a minute that you’re falling. 

Smoke blurs your vision - you know it’s Delsin even though you can't tell up from down. The odor of burnt fireworks singes your nostrils along with the comforting hot musk he wears no matter the time of day. If this is how you die, well… there are worse ways to go…

… but you don’t die and you don’t hit the ground in a broken heap. 

The rooftop meets your back with a gentle thunk. Blood gushes out the gash on the side of your head, and without thinking, you curl away from your savior into a fetal position and moan as pressure builds behind your eyes. A headache pounds into existence. 

Thick blood pools under your temple and Delsin growls. 

There’s a whoosh of movement, followed by more red-popping smoke that proceeds a cacophony of shouting and cursing and through your hazy vision, you can see trails of fiery grey dashing to and fro. 

A burst of fire here… a rippling explosion there…

You’ve never seen Delsin in action - not like this. He’s a show-off… yeah, but it’s always in good fun. Never once have you seen him commit acts of violence even though somewhere in the back of your head you’ve always known he’s hurt people… killed them in some cases. 

You feel drool leak out the side of your mouth as a balloon grows inside your head. 

Weak and wobbly, you try to crawl up on your elbows, scuffing a funny bone in the process of sitting up. The world rotates on its axis like a penny twirling on a subway sill, but you pull yourself up just as Delsin thrusts a palm against some white-collar looking guys chest. The man flies backward into an AC unit and doesn’t get back up.

“Delsin… what - what the fuck are you-”

He turns on a heel, for a moment looking like the monster the government used to portray people like him as. In the red lighting coming off the crackling, spitting fire-smoke around his raised hands, you see a terrorist. Those usually happy-go-lucky eyes are narrowed in rage. His teeth are bared, catching the glare of red, but the men around him are hacking on smoke - alive - and knowing that allows your response to the carnage to be less horrific and more… thankful, impressive and… arousing. The pain mutes most of your reactions, but it’s still there, tingling between your legs.

“Shit,” he says as if seeing you for the first time. 

Immediately, the smoke acrobatics dissipate. 

He races towards you on a thin trail of leftover grey and kneels down. Blisteringly hot hands cradle your face where there’s blood drizzling down the side. He looks at the wound on your head, fingers it quick and firm, then looks into your eyes and suddenly you’re more concerned about him than yourself. 

“You okay?” You ask with a frog in your throat. 

Delsin laughs brokenly, “Me? Jesus Christ, no. I thought they’d cracked your fucking head open. Shit… it’s not pretty but nothing’s broken.”

“Head wounds…” you mutter and wince as blood drips into your left eyes, “bleed like a bitch.”

“Yeah, they do. Shit,” Delsine curses again and looks back at the groaning B.T.S. members as they recover from the ass beating he just gave them, “... shit-hey, okay… we gotta go. Come on.”

Laughter nearly comes out your mouth.

If he thinks you could drag yourself anywhere right now then he’s crazier than you are, but the giggle gets shut down as Delsin hefts you up in his arms. You fumble around his neck with two heavy lead weights for arms that are just shy of useless and moan in confusion. Nothing really makes much sense right now. 

“That’ah girl, up we go,” he urges, cupping you under the ass, “... you got this.”

Fuck. You so don’t got this. 

Every movement feels like you’re on one of those amusement spinny rides that twirl you in a full circle while spinning you inside your seat. 

Double twirl. 

Delsin is the only thing keeping you from propelling straight back into the ground. 

He shoulders you against his hip with a grunt before kicking off the ledge of the building, skidding down the hollow rain funnel; hot sparks cascading out your vision. The both of you descend on a cloud of smoke down the six-story building until the savory smell of burning shrubbery rises under your nose. 

He’s set fire to one of the bushes on accident...

Figures, you think before moaning and burying your face in his vest collar. The denim is already wet with sticky blood… which doesn’t make you very excited but as he dashes you both through the city, down empty roads and past patrol vehicles, you begin feeling more like yourself. Even though you’re racing with him at eighty miles an hour in a rocket of smoke and fire, your head stops it’s tail spin long enough for you to clutch the slack of his hoodie and tell him ‘thank you.’

“Thank me later. Right now, we gotta get you safe inside. Bricks are a big no-no when it comes to the noggin.”

You snort even though it sends a twang of pain through your temple and stuff your bleeding head harder into his throat because the pressure almost takes away some of the discomfort even if you’re getting blood all over him. 

He doesn’t seem to mind. 

The climb up to your apartment feels like a watery dream. 

One moment you’re struggling to lock your ankles around his hip and then the next Delsin's pulling your balcony door open and the warm, eucalyptus-peppermint tinged air is heating your senses. 

“Okay, tree frog, time to unlatch yourself,” he says as if you’re concussed, which you most likely are, “Where’s the medicine cabinet in this place?”

“Bathroom. Under the sink,” you get out before Delsin hip knocks your bedroom door open and lays you down on an unmade bed, making sure your bloody face is tilted away from the pillow. You wince and hiss as his thumb rubs at some sticky hair over your eyebrow. 

You curl up on your side - fingers pressing deep between your eyes - and ask him to wet a towel and get you a pill from the orange bottle above the sink. He disappears in a puff of smoke, enough to make you rub away a sneeze. Delsin is back in less than a minute with a wet, warm washcloth pressed to the wound on your head and two pills in an open palm. 

“I should take care of this,” he says as if to himself, while you dry swallow the two pain pills meant for bad periods and gasp as he drags the damp cloth across your temple. 

“It’s a bump,” you moan, “just… a bump and they bleed. It’s okay.”

“Ya know, pretty sure you’re just repeating the bullshit I said earlier… maybe I should-“

“Then we agree,” you smile even if it probably looks more like a grimace, “... besides, if you take me to the hospital they’ll just want me to rest and recoup if it’s a concussion. I can do that… on my own without paying a grand in medical costs.”

Delsin looks like he’s chewing on words, but doesn’t argue while gently wiping away the dried blood from your face and hair. It’s painful - stings like a paper cut but quadrupled. You take it all with your teeth masticating your bottom lip rosy red, twisting your rumpled bed sheet between your fingers. 

“... well?” You ask once he’s stopped wiping and begins dabbing at the gash.

He makes an annoyed huff, “So, it’s not the death sentence I thought it was but… shit, for a moment there I thought you were heading to the rainbow bridge.”

At that, you chuckle, ignoring the skull-throbbing because soon the pain meds will kick in and you won’t give a crap about anything. It’ll take a while, probably half an hour but when they kick in you plan on having Delsin get the razor and bandages and maybe super glueing some skin back together because… because… 

“Whah’What’s-“ you suck in a breath as euphoric heat spreads around your skull, wrapping the jumbled nerves and broken skin in something like grey, wet webbing. 

Red sparks pop and snap before your eyes. 

Delsin is there behind the trails of smoke with a severe expression, his hands on your head and temple alike. Suddenly the pain is gone. It’s just… gone...

“Did you just…” you’re at a loss for words. 

Sure, there had been rumors of Delsin lifting the wounded off the pavement during D.U.P. occupation, healing them with something akin to magic but… you hadn't thought... 

“You just healed me.”

“Sorta. It’s just a thing... I do.”

“A thing?” You ask in bewilderment, sitting halfway up with eyes alight and your hair still a little damp and sticky with old blood.

“Or a trick,” Delsin adds, shrugging his denim-vested shoulders with all the buttons and studs, “Call it whatever you want, it’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Not. A. Big deal??” 

Now you're sitting up straight with your hands on his, pulling at his flexible fingers while he swallows nervously, staring down at you with something shiny in his eyes. 

“Delsin,” you continue, “you healed me like a fucking saint, and that’s no big thing? Where did my egomaniac Smoke Guy go? You’re supposed to be lording over this kinda stuff. Holy fucking shit.”

“Seriously,” he tries, parting his lips like you just stuck your hand down his jeans, but you can’t stop patting his chest with a massive grin because Delsin Rowe just made your head wound vanish!

“Oh, shit,” you say; face dropping with a sudden realization. 

“What?”

“I just took two pain pills…”

“Yeah well, I nearly lost you to a bunch of dipshits so maybe just enjoy the ride, okay? I’m still very much emotionally scarred over here,” he says it all with a straight face until you sock him in the shoulder and he puffs out a loose grin before tugging at your messy ponytail. 

You can’t stop smiling from ear to ear even as Delsin snags the tangles in your hair while removing the tie. Without the sudden absence of that harsh pain, you feel like a billion bucks and shake your head; hair tumbling free. 

Delsin gapes at you with barely parted lips, grips the hair on the back of your neck and kisses you without warning. It should have been a cute kiss - just something that couples do, but it’s not all that cute. The way Delsin’s lips hug yours says that he wasn't joking. 

He’d been scared and maybe a part of him still is. 

The old cotton in your head feels like it never existed at all and the little stretch of dried blood around your cheek as you kiss him back is the only physical reminder of the violence tonight. 

You sigh out a moan against him - lips opening and closing with gradual softness - and stretch your arms around his neck. He braces an elbow beside you, gripping the pillow under your head with the other and starts crawling up on the bed over you as you get further wrapped up in the passionate kiss. 

You’ve done your fair share of making out with Delsin, sometimes it’s lead to him rubbing smokey fingers against your clit with the skill only a guy who's been around can boast and one time some over-the-clothes grinding but it’s never felt quite like this. 

“Umm,” Delsin pulls back with a wince as if he wants to dip down for seconds but needs to say something before he can do so with a clean conscience, “look this is like one of my top three fantasies - saving you from peril and taking you home to get hot an heavy - but I need you to know, I’m not the playboy you think I am. I mean…”

He looks red. You don’t think you’ve seen him actually blush before and yet here Delsin is, getting all flustered over some standard lip locking. 

“So, I’ve gotten laid like a handful of times, but you’re - you’re like, way out of my league. Also tonight has been the definition of action movie typical sex scene lead up, and I just want you to contain your smoldering sexual appetites because-“

“That was nearly a tender moment,” you interrupt with an eye roll.

“Hey, I just don’t want your female hysteria or adrenaline - whatever you wanna call it - dictate when and where you let me have my way with you. That’s all.”

Wait. You shift back into your feather down pillows and stare up at Delsin as his smile twitches in one corner. 

“Hold on,” you smirk and lay your palms against his shoulders, pushing him back an inch to get a better look at his blushing face, “are you nervous at the prospect of having sex with me?”

“What?- No... I dunno,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact, “I mean if I was that doesn’t mean… whatever. I’m not nervous, okay.”

“Banner Man,” you admonish with a smile, nudging him by the chin to look back down at you. He frowns, blinks and gives you an honest look of shyness you hadn't thought possible on him until now. 

“I’m not a virgin,” you tell him.

“I know that…”

“You’re not a virgin, so,” you continue, “you don’t have to worry about whatever you’re worried about right now.”

Delsin makes a face like he’s suffering through a lecture before hanging his head. A thin piece of black hair falls out the cuff of his beanie, tickling your face. You wiggle your nose against the silky strand and laugh a little. 

Drawn by the tinkle of your amusement, he peers down at you, eyes suddenly softening and without words, some understanding passes, and you’re back to sinking into your bed with his lips gliding over yours. 

“Yes,” you gasp as his fingers comb through the tangled crusty hair where the gash had been and double fist his vest collar. 

Haphazardly placed studs on his breast pocket cool your hot running fingers as you drag eager hands down his chest, slipping back up to pull his hoodie zipper down. 

The cotton peels open, releasing body heat and something like singed maple wood. Delsin always smells like a smokehouse… always reeks of fire and ash, and the scent wets your tongue as it maps out the roof of his mouth. 

“Are we-“ Delsin groans against your mouth, inhaling hard when you start bumping knuckles against his chest while trying to get his flannel buttons undone as fast as possible, “... shit.”

You snap the last two buttons open with a jerk, exposing the trim tan skin of his stomach and turn your head, breaking the kiss to shove a rattled Delsin on his back. 

“Shit,” he curses again with a short breath; bouncing back on your bed with wide brown eyes and a slack, wet mouth. He’s not calling your mattress shitty now, is he?

“How far?” You ask while undoing his jeans with the same impatient pace you’d given his flannel shirt. 

“All the way?” Delsin asks back, panting breath growing heavier as you unzip his jeans and yank them down, jerking them past his hips to around his thighs. The movement tugs his red boxers over his hip bones, just barely hugging the erection rising under the thin cotton; keeping it under wraps.

You’ve never seen his dick before. 

All the stuff you’ve done so far has been him touching you, but neither of you hesitates around the stretch waistband, pushing and pulling until the russet-colored, uncut cock bobs back over his stomach. For a moment Delsin looks nervous before he gets a good look at the expression on your face. 

That smirk, edged in a little egotistical flare, reaches up to kiss you. It’s sweet and soft and not what you need after getting a brick to the head. 

With a low growl, you shove him back down, opening your mouth along his in a hungry slant, licking his teeth until he groans and flicks his tongue forward. 

A hard kiss is precisely what Delsin needs to it seems because he snatches the zipper handle between your tits and yanks it down, exposing a thin graphic thermal and the equally skinny bralette below. One steaming palm cups your left breast and squeezes, pulling a sigh out of you. He tugs your nipple until it tightens under his touch - pinching and stretching - and goes for your other breast with the same technique. 

There’s something about the way Delsin strokes your chest that makes you hotter and wetter below. You’ve never been all that obsessed with your tits or guys touching them or… hell, even stroking them yourself, but maybe it’s the heat he manifests or the way he does it but… Delsin can nearly send you spiraling just by massaging your breasts and nipples alone. 

Could be muscle memory from that first time in Thornton Creek Park with the ice cream though…

As soon as you break the kiss to breathe, Delsin gasps out a husky chuckle. 

“By far - shit,” he groans as you huff a giggle against him and arch into his massaging hands, “this is by far the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“You do realize we're not even fucking yet,” you remind him even though he's got the bottom edge of his lip pinned between his teeth while working your thermal up over your bra, barely paying any attention elsewhere. The guy has more brain cells while unintentionally huffing paint fumes than he does right now.

“Uh’huh,” he mutters, proving your unvoiced point while peeling the stretch of your bra down; tight nipples aching as he jiggles your tits free and smirks, “You know I’ve had wet dreams where I get suffocated by these bad boys?” 

“Sounds like a nightmare,” you manage before he grabs you by the ass; one finger hooking in an empty belt loop.

Delsin’s smile widens like a Cheshire Cat, pulling you up - hovering precariously over his erection - until your breasts are hanging in his face. He makes a hedonistic sound in his throat and nudges that hooked nose between twin globes of flesh, kisses the side of one and licks his way to a nipple. The hot, wet latch and suck of his mouth sends you into a dry, trembling fever. 

One bite and hot lave over a tingling nipple flips the ‘fuck me now’ switch and for some reason the evening rushes back - the smoke floating, grappling up ledges, the reek of spray paint and the way he’d saved you from cracking your skull open - it all comes back and there’s nothing more you want than him. 

Quickly, you lift up, nipple popping out of his mouth and shrug off your hoodie; desperate to feel Delsin’s cock rocking inside you. 

He sees the look on your face - heavy eyes widen a fraction - and starts helping you out of your thermal and bralette. 

He knocks you on your back, shoots up to his knees while your bouncing on the mattress and snaps the button on your jeans. Delsin rolls his brown shoulders and takes the ripped, skin-tight denim down your legs, bunching them around your chucks. The shoes and jeans get thrown over the side of the bed while he kicks off the rest of his clothes and you wiggle out of your underwear. His low-tops hit your floor one by one, and then your knees are being pulled up around his naked ribs, ankles in his fists as the wet nudge of a hard cock presses against your soaked folds.

Delsin doesn’t hesitate, he pushes forward while you spread yourself open with two fingers, shifting until the tip of his cock breaches tight muscle. It’s a slow, languorous thrust after that - the stretching pleasure sending you arching in the sheets, fingers snatching up the pillow under your head. 

“Thank fuck,” you sigh and smile; moaning as Delsin’s groan hitches. 

His face is twisted in pained bliss, bruising your ankles in his grip before he realizes how hard he’s squeezing and lowers them over his shoulders. Your toes curl as he sinks deeper, bracing his palms beside the pillow under your head. 

“... fuck. Fuck me,” you whimper. 

Delsin gasps a chuckle, ‘hnng’s’ out a groan and rips his beanie off. 

“Someone’s got a dirty mouth…” he comments with a winded sort of smirk, rocking his hips back in short motions that get another stifled ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ to tumble out of your mouth.

“... I absolutely… love... your dirty mouth.”

You grin and throw an arm around his neck, muttering curses against his lips while sucking down his own grunts; sounds escaping him with every full thrust. 

Heat bakes off him, but you wonder how hot you are on the inside compared to him… maybe you’re cool in comparison which could be unflattering but doesn’t matter because every drag of inner flesh feels so liquid sweet. It’s like his dick is a hundred and nine degrees or over; slipping and sliding through your cunt effortlessly if not for how tight your body hugs him within.

“Baby,” Delsin gasps against your kisses, nipping at your bottom lip before muttering against your mouth, “... look at me.”

You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes, or how long you’d had them shut for, but when you open them, Delsin is staring down at you with an intimacy that makes you blush hotter than the sparking fingers skimming your cheek. His thrusts don’t stop, but they run shallow - close - and deeper than before. 

For a second you look away, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable under his gaze before finding your way back to his eyes; cut with black bangs. They bore into you; penetrate harder than his cock and that is what crosses the line between whatever you guys were doing before this… to making love in the middle of your unmade bed with the crust of old blood in your hair and the streak of it peeling off his neck. 

You run nails across his scalp, listen to him sigh, and cup his cheeks in your palms as he rubs the flaking blood off your temple and fucks you like someone in love - someone that almost lost the one he loved.

“Delsin,” you breathe, not knowing what to say, but knowing your vocabulary is too weak to convey what you’re feeling right now. 

He nods in your hands, face scrunching up in caramel lines of tension and pleasure and starts pounding between your thighs faster… harder… and faster still. 

Your box spring whines under Delsin’s thrusts and the springy mattress bounces you up into his cock with each buck. His tongue wets his lips over and over - teeth raking the thick lower plush red and raw. 

Delsin stares at you through fluttering lashes until your cunt contracts - the first hint of an orgasm pulling at your lower abdomen.

Slowly, but surely, pleasure opens up like morning petals after a heavy rain. You smile, almost laughing at how sappy that sounds before the waves of bliss his cock thrusts inside you grows and thickens; creeping up along your arms and legs like a wildfire. 

For a second you think it’s dots from the healed concussion, or stars bursting before your eyes because… yeah, it feels that good, but it’s Delsin. Swirls of warm fire coil around his skin, fading into burgundy smoke and crackles of searing sparks like the spray off a campfire. It doesn’t hurt, but the bright rain that falls over your breasts and neck create little ripples of smoldering heat.

You pet down his cheeks, grip him behind an ear and drag his lips to yours where they hover close; painting your face in hot, noisy gasps until you can’t take it anymore. The pressure is everywhere - the heat is in your bones and leaking inside your belly. 

You can’t stop moaning. 

The small bedroom brightens with a vortex of licking fire that soaks around the both of you. 

Smoke sets off the emergency alarm in your kitchen, but the deafening sound is dampened by whatever conduit cloud Delsin’s manifested in his own mindless pleasure.

“Cuh’cumming - gonna cum,” he groans helplessly against your mouth, furiously dropping your legs from his shoulders to around his waist, and shoves a hand between your legs. 

Delsin finds your clit and rolls it in hard, tight circles, choking on his orgasm as it surges deep below your navel. Something about it hurts, but the burn of it only hits dull cervical nerves. 

You unravel moments after him thanks to the precise stroking of your clit and the troubling cum that’s coating your insides in hard jets. 

Vortex pleasure. 

Ragged groans gush and somewhere inside, you explode and rupture and leak with a release strong enough to make your head spin harder than the concussion. 

The smoke alarm blares beneath Delsin’s grey miasma, but you're too busy stretching your muscles around him, inside and out, as he swirls your orgasm past its peak. 

The firm circling motions of his fingers brings you down so slowly it feels like you’ve been at the top of bliss for minutes and not seconds. 

Maybe Delsin was right, even if he was premature about it, but this was the best sex you’ve ever had… the best orgasm you’ve gotten. Ever. It’s so good that you maybe say a bunch of nasty words because Delsin starts laughing; sex fumes in his throat.

As the smoke settles - literally - the high pitched beep of the kitchen alarm starts getting… annoying. 

“Could be the painkillers kicking in but… pretty sure you set off my smoke alarm…”

Delsin just barely continues rubs his fingertips above your clit, pushing up and then down so the fleshy hood protects the ultrasensitive bundle in favor for weak uninterrupted waves of contentment.

He smirks, “Does that mean we’ve got emergency services on the way? Cause I am leaking smoke like a flare factory during a heat wave.” 

“No, well… fuck I hope not. The SFD would really kill my buzz right now,” you mutter, half brain-dead while gently pushing on his shoulders until he hisses - still stiff and throbbing cock slipping away - and falls back beside you on the bed.

“Oh, my god that was good!” Delsin says vigorously loud; drumming his hands on his chest to the tune of the blaring smoke alarm. 

“You gonna go take care of that, Smokie?”

“Huh?” He looks at you and blinks before understanding dawns on him, “Oh! - yeah, right! On it, Girlie.”

You smile to yourself as Delsin rolls off the bed, hits the floor on his heels and speed walks out your room, his tight ass shifting with each step. After several seconds Delsin kills the smoke alarm. You can hear him in your kitchen now, opening the fridge door like he owns the place while humming loudly; tapping his bare feet on the tile floor as if he’s the happiest go-luckiest dude on the planet. 

“Hey!” He shouts from the kitchen, “you want a beer?!” and then says to himself in a lower voice, “cause I am getting a beer after that life affirming fuck… Jesus Christ...”

“Painkillers!” You remind him, curling up inside your fragrant sheets as cum, nearly as hot as melted sugar, seeps out of you. It should be kinda gross, but it feels really… really good. 

Delsin shows up in your door frame, leaning casually and very, very naked against the jam with a beer in one hand and a bottle of seltzer water in another. For the first time you get a good look at him in all his glory - supple, warm-beige skin scattered in tribe tattoos, black silky hair trailing down his navel to his groin, the tapering muscles around his sides and down his hips - it’s slightly overwhelming. And that’s not even counting the large, semi hard cock between his legs. 

“So, before I step through the threshold and make this whole evening super awkward, on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate my performance. Again… extra points for the sparkly orgasm cause those pyrotechnics are one of a kind.” 

He pauses in mid thought, eyes rolling to the side before he smirks, “... sorta one of a kind.”

You clam up long enough for Delsin’s confident smile to wane a bit. He looks suddenly awkward standing there with his dick and balls hanging out but the way his cheeks darken is handsome and the fact that Delsin possesses the ability to be nervous right now relaxes your racing heart. 

“It depends if we were fucking or-“

Delsin cuts you off, sounding warm but hesitant, “I didn’t think that’s what was happening… did you?”

In bed, hair a mess and blood still glueing some strands to your temple, you shake your head and pull at the covers, making room for him. He looks at the space you uncover for him and finally crosses the invisible barrier between you two, smiling with his eyes. 

You both snuggle halfway under the covers. 

Delsin cracks a beer and you uncap a fizzy water as the pain pills start mixing with the endorphins from whatever just happened tonight. Call it making love or sweet and sappy, but it wasn’t just sex and it definitely wasn’t straight fucking. 

You gulp down half the bottle, swallowing a burp of fizz and sink back into the soft comforting hold of the bed while Delsin watches you and drinks. 

“... so, what’s the score? I gotta know if that was as epic for you as it was for me or I’m gonna be stewing in my own self doubt all night.”

“Do you even have the brain receptors for self doubt?” 

“Look,” he turns around on an elbow, cold beer against his naked stomach, “I’m a fast learner. You steer me in the right direction, show me a couple of your own moves and I’ll turn whatever number you have into a ten by the end of the week. I will dedicate long - albeit incredibly awesome - hours to making sure your brain figuratively melts every time we-“

“Chill out, Delsin… that was a ten out of ten and obviously it was hot enough that I forgot about condoms-“

“Shit, that literally never crossed my mind.”

“-so quit worrying and let me lay here. I wanna bask in the glow while I can.”

Delsin mouths like a docked fish before you sigh, smiling, and look up at him, “What now?”

“I mean, should I be freaking out about the no condom thing cause I’m clearly amazing but I don’t think I’m ready to be a-“

“Nope. Chill,” you say, poking him in the chest until he makes one of those ‘seriously’ faces and closes his mouth, “I’ve got that covered… if anything I should be worried about the bucket of molten lava you shot in me. It’s still hot…”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Found out how hot the Delsin juice gets like my first week after we took down Augustine. First time I jerked it, I nearly melted a bath mat.”

You make a face and Delsin laughs.

“I can’t believe you call it Delsin juice. That’s so typical.”

“Hot Delsin Juice,” he says back and finishes off his beer. 

You’re swimming in a haze that you probably wouldn’t enjoy thanks to the unnecessary pain meds, but Delsin’s warm palm rubs across your shoulder, arm and starts stroking the inside of your palm. The contact is loving, innocent-like and without thinking you thread your fingers between his.

Your eyes are closed and sleep is itching behind them when Delsin finally lays down beside you. 

His arm carefully stretches under your pillow, lifting your head up a couple inches. The crook of his arm cradles your head and the pillow while a palm cups your back; fingers stroking your spine. 

Delsin breaths warmth against the side of your head, making you sigh with pure contentment. 

His other hand tugs at your hip through the sheets, drawing your naked chest to his before whispering, “All jokes aside, I’m really, really glad you’re okay. Thought I was… I dunno, just… I’m glad you’re alright.”

You think about his brother - the cop you never met - and snuggle into him, wrapping an arm around his back until he’s clutching you hard enough that his body heat almost takes your breath away, but Delsin needs it and so do you. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, laying a kiss against his throat until he sighs out the remaining tension and starts saying something that makes your heart pound, but he stops halfway through. You don’t push it, just hold him tight. 

Tomorrow you won’t be so stoned and tomorrow… maybe Delsin won’t be reliving bad memories. 

You squeeze him one final time, feeling the last of your energy drain away, and whisper for him to wake you up if he has any bad dreams. 

Delsin mutters the same, kisses the crown of your head and hopefully follows you into a foggy, exhausted sleep because after everything tonight, the both of you need to sleep in until at least noon… maybe one… or two…

… or who gives a shit as long as you wake up next to him. Delsin Rowe: savior of Seattle and your knight in singed armor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you to the Anon for their requests. If you have the time, please leave me a comment about what you liked or didn’t like.
> 
> Thank you to Darth Fucamus for looking this over for any major issues. Any typos are mine. <3
> 
>  
> 
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